


we found love right where we are

by b_minor



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, gratuitous fluff what else is new, nesting owls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3685059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_minor/pseuds/b_minor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're older now, but some things never change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we found love right where we are

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BOKUAKA DAY FOLKS. Also thank you to [manta](http://archiveofourown.org/users/manta/pseuds/pomme) for all the beta help!! Title from Ed Sheeran's 'Thinking Out Loud' because I'm original like that.

The door opens, flooding the entryway with artificial lighting and Keiji’s long shadow. He slowly drags his feet across the threshold, drops his luggage (he only ever uses a modestly sized carry-on for business trips), and makes sure to grab the key from the door before he closes it behind him.

Flicking the light on, he bends over to unlace his shoes, wincing a bit at the ache that blooms at his lower back following the motion. As much as he loves his job, sitting for hours on end--whether at desks or conference room tables--has been doing terrible things to his body.

“Maybe it’s time to look into yoga,” he mutters to himself.

A voice rings out from down the hall, “You’re back! Hold on while I--oops. Um. Uh oh.”

There is a sound of a metal bowl clattering against countertop and liquid splashing. Keiji sighs, stepping into the slippers he’d pulled out from the shoe closet. Shrugging off his blazer, he folds it neatly and places it on top of the suitcase. He leans a shoulder against the wall, unable to keep the smile off his face as Koutarou stumbles into the hallway, gazing down morosely at a dark stain on the front of his shirt. “Ugh, I liked this one, too. Hope the sauce won’t be too hard to wash out. Anyway, welcome home! I was making dinner.”

When their eyes meet, Koutarou’s smile draws back into a frown while white eyebrows furrow with concern. The older man walks over to him in several long strides, and within moments Keiji feels calloused hands gently tip his face up, tilting it from side to side. He’s aware that the bags beneath his eyes are probably darker than usual; between meetings and all-nighters there’d been little time to sleep. How bad does he look?

“Geez, did you get any sleep at all?”

“Some, yes,” he replies, wrapping his own hands around Koutarou’s, nuzzling lightly into his palm as he soaks in the warmth and physical contact. He’d sorely missed this. “We had a few all nighters trying to finish the project in time for the deadline. It was nothing too serious. It’s clear that I’m not getting any younger, though.”

A deep laugh. “You’ll always be gorgeous to me.” He feels the tips of his ears flush in response as Koutarou grabs his shoulders and leads Keiji out of the entryway. He lets go all too soon, nudging him towards the bath. “Anyway, enough talk! Go on and take a nice loooooong soak first while I finish cooking. I made a ton of things, including your favorite.”

Keiji turns back to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “I had my suspicions when your shirt stain smelled like karashi.”

“You know you love it, babe,” the other replies, waggling his eyebrows playfully before disappearing back into their kitchenette.

Keiji merely rolls his eyes and wanders to the bedroom to gather a change of clothes. He notes with an amused smile that one of his larger shirts is peeking out from beneath the comforter haphazardly thrown across the bed. Koutarou must have slept with it under his pillow again, a pattern that had emerged after the first time Keiji had been sent abroad for a conference (Keiji has 'borrowed' shirts to take with him in turn). He tugs it out, and after rifling through his drawers pulls out a pair of gray sweatpants, equally threadbare and soft, before making a beeline towards the bath.

He eventually emerges in his sleepwear, systematically towelling his hair as he pads into the living room. Koutarou (now wearing a canary yellow shirt instead of his mustard-stained tee from earlier) is seated at their dining table, now laden with a generous spread of dishes. As he suspected, among the array is a plate piled high with boiled rapeseed plants, tossed in the karashi sauce that he’d smelled on the other man earlier. When Koutarou sees him he perks up, turning off the television while eagerly patting the chair next to his.

“You really did make a lot,” Keiji comments idly, taking his usual seat. “Everything looks delicious.”

Koutarou beams with pride and hands him a bowl packed with freshly cooked white rice. “They’re all Japanese dishes! I thought you’d probably been missing it like you did after your last trip, so I practiced. Washio gave me some tips, too.”

The edge of Keiji’s lips quirks up. “I was only away for a week this time,” he leans in to place a kiss at the corner of Koutarou’s mouth. “But, you’re wonderful. Thank you.” He claps his hands together. “Thanks for the meal.” Picking up his chopsticks, he aims straight for the greens. He tries not to laugh when the other man scoots his chair even closer and loops their ankles together.

The rest of dinner is spent bringing Keiji back up to speed on what he’d missed while he was gone. The community gym is organizing a tournament for the elementary school kids. Kuroo’d dropped by the bar during his work hours a few days ago (things had snowballed into a restaurant-wide sake bomb competition). The cat that lived in the box beneath the stairwell actually let him pet her a little after he fed her this morning. Koutarou describes these and other events, emphasizing certain parts of the story through wild hand movements, rocking his chair dangerously backwards several times in his enthusiasm and earning a stern reprimand to be careful. Keiji allows the cadence of words to flow around him like a stream, interjecting his own comments and the occasional bubble of laughter here and there.

After the leftovers are stored and the dishes are left drying, the TV is turned back on. Midway through a spiel listing all of the crime procedural shows that Koutarou had recorded for him, Keiji begins to yawn, only barely stifling it in time.

“S-sorry. I must be more jetlagged than I thought I was…”

Koutarou blinks owlishly at him in response, as if gears are turning in his brain, before shaking his head. “No worries. Hey, wait here a sec will ya? Oh, and close your eyes!” Koutarou mimes covering his face with his hands. Keiji sighs in mild exasperation and shuts his eyelids. He doesn’t need to see in order to know that Koutarou is probably waving his hand in front of him, double-triple checking to make sure that he isn’t cheating. “Absolutely nooooo peeking, promise?”

“I promise,” he replies.

He sits at the table, listening (but not peeking, just like he promised) as Koutarou dashes around the house making arrangements for whatever it was he had planned. When he returns, there is triumph in his voice. “Okey dokey, it’s all ready! I have a surprise for you, but you have to keep your eyes closed still, okay?” Koutarou takes his hands, carefully leads them out of the living area and down the hall into the bedroom, turning on the light as they enter. “Alright, you can open them now.”

Keiji slowly opens his eyes, blinks several times as everything comes into focus, and the sight before him takes a moment to register. He whips his head around, delight curving his lips. “I love you.”

The taller man laughs in relief and immediately puffs up with pride. “I know.”

**

_It is late and neither of them had felt up to the task of putting together the bed frame._

_Boxes tower against one wall of the living room, some in his own slanted penmanship and others in Bokuto’s large, loopy scrawl. The ones labeled ‘PILLOWS AND BLANKETS’ have been unpacked, their contents haphazardly tossed into a bed-like pile on the floor. Keiji’s back is pressed up against Bokuto’s chest and despite the heavy spring rain outside he feels so, so warm. Bokuto fiddles with their hands, alternating between lacing their fingers together and simply turning them this way and that._

_“Hey, doesn’t this remind you of the training camps we had back in high school?”_

_Keiji hums a bit. “If you mean how you always ‘rolled around in your sleep’ and just so happened to wind up next to my futon every time, then yes.”_

_“It’s not like Kuroo’s the only one who can be sneaky about things.” Bokuto laughs sheepishly._

_“Subtle isn’t exactly a character trait that people tend to associate with you, Bokuto-san.”_

_His boyfriend huffs indignantly in response, shifts a bit, eventually bringing their hands back together. He falls quiet, and after several beats of silence Keiji begins to suspect that Bokuto had fallen asleep when a glimmer of metal between their joined fingers draws his attention. Curious, he draws them to eye level and promptly forgets to breathe. He sits up immediately. Bokuto follows suit but avoids making eye contact; he scratches his neck nervously and apparently finds the embroidered owl pattern on one of the blankets extremely interesting._

_“Koutarou, is this...?”_

_“I told you I could be sneaky if I wanted to. Y’know, I,” Bokuto--no, Koutarou--takes in a shaky breath and finally returns his gaze, but then curls into himself with a groan. “Ughhh I had this whole speech planned out, I really did. I rehearsed for WEEKS with Kuroo. But I can’t remember a word of it!” He sits back up, ruffling his own hair in frustration. “I wanted to tell you stuff like…like how I fell in love as soon as I laid eyes on you. How I loved watching your back in volleyball practice and spiking a ball that was still warm from your toss. How I was an absolute mess when I confessed and you just took my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. How you’re the most patient, intelligent, beautiful person I’ve ever met. How one morning I brought you breakfast in bed and you made the cutest grumpy noises because you hate waking up. How even though your hair was a mess and there was still a little drool at the side of your mouth I just KNEW right then that you were the one, y’know?”_

_“I think I got the gist,” Keiji says, fighting a smile._

_Koutarou takes his hands between his own, a thumb ghosting over the gold band he’d somehow slipped onto Keiji’s left ring finger. “The point is this. Akaashi Keiji, I love you and I really, really, really want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me?”_

_He doesn’t even need a moment to think. Keiji leans in and presses a flurry of kisses to Koutarou’s face, each punctuated with an delighted ‘yes’._

**

“I was so tired that it’d slipped my mind,” he says, leaning into his husband. “It’s been eight years now?”

“Yup!”

Then, without warning, Keiji’s lost his sense of gravity, having been swept up in Koutarou’s arms. It’s all he can do to wrap his own around the other’s neck, laughing as they travel the last few steps and tumble onto the bed--piled high with every last pillow and blanket in the apartment. They immediately tangle themselves together, curling into one another atop the nest. Koutarou’s arms encircle his waist while his own are loosely wrapped around the larger man’s shoulders. He begins to languidly comb his fingers through his husband’s hair, still inexplicably white with the exception of several feathery wisps of black. Experimentally, he parts it at the center and smooths the strands out into two tufts, but it is too short to stay that way for long.

“D’ya ever miss my old hairstyle?” Koutarou mumbles into his chest.

Keiji pauses to imagine Koutarou walking into work sporting his gelled horns; he resumes combing. “It had its time and place.”

Koutarou looks up at him. He seems somewhat perplexed about whether or not to take the comment as a compliment, but eventually seems to shrug it off and lays his head back down.

“Besides,” Keiji says, echoing Koutarou’s words from earlier, “you’ll always be gorgeous to me. Because I’ve never stopped loving you since the first time you asked if I could practice more tosses with you. I love that you’re fearless on the court but hide under the blankets and hold my hand when we watch scary movies. That you always bring out the potential you see in others, including me. That you can be surprisingly shy sometimes, like when you hesitated to pet the owl at the cafe we went to on our third date because you were afraid of hurting it, and how your eyes lit up after it came closer to you. That you make me tea in the mornings and wrap your hands around mine so that I don’t spill it.” He cups his hands around Koutarou’s face, kisses his temple. “I love that at the end of the day I can come home to you.”

Koutarou starts tearing up and chokes out a wobbly, “Keiji…”

Keiji’s heart squeezes and he seals their lips together, conveying all of his affection into the kiss. When they part, Koutarou presses their foreheads together, murmuring, “Happy anniversary, Keiji.”

He smiles in response, blissful and warm. “Happy anniversary, Koutarou.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> btw, the proposal planning went something like this:
> 
>  
> 
> _Koutarou slaps his whiteboard diagram for emphasis. "And then that's when the street performers start dancing in circles around us while we rise on the automated pedestal above the crowd and I propose!"_
> 
>  
> 
> _On the couch, Kuroo strokes his chin thoughtfully. Kenma is splayed across his lap, his attention entirely focused on his PSP._
> 
>  
> 
> _"What do you think?! He'll definitely say yes, right?"_
> 
>  
> 
> _Kenma doesn't even bother looking up from his game when he speaks up. "...he'd probably get up and leave the minute Kuro pops out of the bushes, I think. Maybe even before that."_
> 
>  
> 
> _"Hate to break it to ya, man, but I think Kenma might be right," adds Kuroo, shrugging. "He seems like the type who'd favor subtlety over showmanship, as cool as this idea is."_
> 
>  
> 
> _Koutarou looks at his strategy board, the sequence he'd carefully outlined in stick figures and a copious number of arrows guiding the action. He whispers sadly to himself, "But I was going to hire owls to carry the flower wreath. For symbolism."_
> 
>  
> 
> Akaashi should definitely thank Kuroo and Kenma for talking Bokuto out of staging a Disney musical style proposal because that was one of Bokuto's first ideas ([like so](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRYU4cqUAUs)).
> 
> Also Akaashi's favorite food is [nanohana karashie](http://japanesefood.about.com/od/vegetable/r/nanohana_karashiae_recipe.htm), or boiled rapeseed plants with karashi mustard dressing.
> 
> Talk to bokuaka and haikyuu!! to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sasasan810)~


End file.
